


The Monochromatic Monotony of the Soul

by NDKiwi



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, M/M, Romantic Soulmates, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-24
Updated: 2020-03-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:35:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22872586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NDKiwi/pseuds/NDKiwi
Summary: Gregs world has been shades of grey since his birth.  Mycroft has only ever seen the brilliant colours of the world.  What happens when they meet and both men’s worlds are turned upside down?
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes & Greg Lestrade, Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade
Comments: 13
Kudos: 64
Collections: Mystrade Soulmates Week 2020





	1. One Million Shades of Grey

**Author's Note:**

  * For [meansgirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/meansgirl/gifts).



> Written for the Mystrade Soulmates Week 2020 collection. Thanks again to Paia for the amazing beta.

The world had been shades of grey for Greg Lestrade since he first opened his eyes. The doctors all said he was a rarity. Such severe colour blindness, or a variation of Cone Monochromacy, just didn’t occur often enough for them to be able to tell his parents what his limitations may be. His mother and father blamed themselves. His mum worked through most of the pregnancy as a tailor, often dying fabrics in the back room of the shop for special orders. They thought perhaps the fumes had caused the defect in the unborn child.

Or maybe his father had chosen the wrong neighborhood to settle them in. It was a quiet neighborhood and the prices were reasonable because there had been a tannery a couple miles away. Maybe something had gotten in their water or the air from the run off. 

Everything was tested and came back negative. No one else seemed to have had any side effects or issues, not even the several other children born in recent years. It was just chalked up to a genetic abnormality. And so went Greg’s life, devoid of colour. Now he couldn’t exactly say he missed it. How can you miss something you were never privy to? Sure, some days he wished he could tell what he was wearing on his own and not have to rely on others to make sure it matched, but all in all it wasn’t detrimental to his life.

In primary school, he had some tough times. It’s hard to learn your colours when you can’t see them and even though the teachers understood, other kids didn’t. Colouring pages were a jumble of shades with lavender skies and yellow grass, and being different was not as cool as it seemed. He was bullied and ostracized throughout his younger years but eventually it lessened as he reached secondary school. It didn’t matter that he couldn’t differentiate between scarlet and mauve, aubergine and cobalt. All that mattered as Greg got older was that he had grown into a handsome man who excelled on the football pitch.

Greg didn’t excel in the classroom, not for lack of trying, but academics just didn’t come naturally to him. But out on the pitch he dominated. He could craft moves and diagrams to lead his team to victory and moved with confidence and agility. Getting a scholarship through football was the only chance he had to go to Uni and he wasn’t about to throw away his shot.

Being a police officer was something he had known he wanted to do since he was barely out of short pants and when he was accepted to City and Islington College to study Criminology, he was happy. A place he could study what he wanted and play a sport he loved all the while being close to his favourite team, Arsenal. His parents wished him luck as he packed up and moved to the Islington in London.

The classes Greg attended weren’t easy, not by a long shot, but criminology came as naturally to him as kicking a goal did. He only ran into issues when he had to write a report or explain some evidence without using colour as a descriptor. He had grown accustomed to using other ways to explain things and did his best. Besides, you generally worked as a team as an officer, and they all played to their strengths and supplemented each others’ weaknesses. 

Not having a lot of free time between classes and football, Greg didn’t spend much time worrying about his love life. He had a few flings in secondary school, but he hadn’t found anyone that really felt right. In uni though, he quickly realized he was attracted to men just as much as women. He dated a couple of blokes and some women, and enjoyed the time they had together. One man, he even considered making something more serious, but it didn’t pan out. In his last year Greg met Jane. She knew he was bisexual and identified as such herself and after seven months of serious dating, Greg proposed right after he finished his last final and Jane accepted.

London had become home to Greg during uni and when he graduated, he loathed to leave. He knew it was a long shot, but applied to be a constable with New Scotland Yard anyway. When he got an interview he was bowled over. Asked back for a secondary interview caused him to grin brightly and liftJane off her feet and spin her around. The offer of employment led to a round of energentic sex followed by a night out, hangovers ensured. Greg and Jane married shortly after and started to look for a house so they could start a family when he was settled in his new career. All seemed to be well in the world of Greg Lestrade.

Scotland Yard was a demanding mistress. Long hours and frequent missed nights at home took their toll. Jane had been understanding in the beginning. She had been focussed on finishing her nursing degree and began to work at Saint Bartholomew’s Hospital in the OB ward. Greg knew she loved her job and, for awhile, working there staved off the baby fever that would inevitably come. But it did come eventually. By the time they decided to start trying to get pregnant, Greg had risen quickly to the rank of Sergeant and seemed to be next in line for a promotion to Inspector when his predecessor retired in a few years time. If only a child could be attained so easily.

Two years, that's how long they tried to do things the natural way. Charting ovulation cycles, coming together on lunch hours to fuck in the back of Greg’s car, even making sure to have the proper lubricant to promote the mobility of Gregs sperm, all to no avail. Then came the doctors. Wanking into a cup was mortifying but Greg thought of England and did his duty. Bloodwork and counts all came back normal for him and Jane’s body was fertile as the crescent valley, yet they couldn't conceive. 

Shots were the next course of action. Bloody expensive ones that were not covered under the NHS, but Greg would have paid anything to make Jane happy at that point. They didn’t work either. Jane had pulled away a bit, quitting her job at the hospital because being around babies had become too hard. She did in-home hospice work now, and the light that she had in her eyes when they met slowly died. When he got his promotion to Inspector, Jane became more distant. She didn’t want to try anymore for a baby. They tried to foster a child once and realized it wasn’t what they wanted. Greg began to throw himself even more into his work and soon, they felt more like roommates who shagged when they were bored than husband and wife.

Then suddenly, just after their tenth wedding anniversary, on the heels of his promotion to Inspector, Jane announced she was pregnant. Greg was overjoyed but somehow, Jane seemed to be less so and that surprised him. Maybe she had just waited so long that it didn’t feel real yet. Greg kissed her in joy before leaving for work, deciding to try harder in their marriage. He spread the news wide in the office that day, congratulations and back slaps all around helped fuel his continuing smile.

“It’s not your baby, mate,” came a deep voice from around a corner as Greg left the toilets after lunch. He moved to look around and saw a younger man with dark, disheveled hair wearing a long coat that was too warm for the spring day they were having. When Greg looked at the man's face, he could tell he was high as tits.

“Yeah? You don’t even know me or my wife. How would you know?” Greg moved to lean against the wall across from the man, who he now saw was handcuffed to a chair.

“It’s come as a surprise. Maybe that means nothing but more likely it means you have been trying for quite some time and can't quite believe it finally happened.” The younger man looked up, dilated eyes suddenly bright. “You are young, too young for your rank but not too old to be a father yet you say this will be your first. Stress lines around your face tell me you put more time into this place than you do into your marriage and not for lack of love. But it just doesn't seem the same any more does it? Wife has taken a girls trip, recently I'd wager, but didn’t want to ‘bore’ you with the details and pictures. And now she announces a miracle pregnancy. Congrats.” He said sarcastically as he finally ran out of steam.

“Fuck off.” Greg nearly snarled. He pushed off from the wall as a constable came to take the man away. Greg shook his head and started back towards his office. He grabbed a cup of shitty coffee and sat down to go over the case of a murdered would-be author but found he couldn’t get the man's words out of his head. He began to break down the last few months piece by piece. 

Jane had been going out more, saying she had made some friends with coworkers at the hospice agency and decided to get out of the house since he worked longer nights in the Homicide division. Two months earlier, Jane had told Greg she and her coworkers had been given the gift of a weekend in Majorca from the family of patient they had cared for that had passed. It all seemed above water and Greg wished her a good time. And sure, she hadn’t shared her pictures or really wanted to talk about it with him, but that was just because they were so busy, right? It had to be that. Grege resolved to put the man's idle talk from his mind and set back to work.

Everything Jane did in the days following the drug-fueled rants of the young man became suspect to Greg. The longer hours, nights out late, and even her insistence that they start to sleep in different beds. She told him it was because the pregnancy made her body ache and she needed room to spread out, but that didn’t explain why she wouldn’t let him touch her. Nothing more than a brief peck on the lips before and after work. Greg’s stomach churned and he needed to know now. One night he found himself sitting on the sofa when she arrived home after another supposed late night call to a patients house. He looked up when she entered, obviously surprised to see him sitting there.

“Hey. Didn’t think you would still be up.” Jane said casually as she hung her jacket up and kicked off her shoes. Greg noticed she wasn’t even in the scrubs she normally wore to go on calls.

“Is the baby even mine?” he blurted out, eyes cast down to his hands and the beer he held, undrunk, in them. Best to be blunt.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me. Is the baby even mine? Or is it the child of whatever bloke you’ve been seeing?” Greg looked up into her shocked face and her hesitation in denial told him all he needed to know. He swallowed hard and set the beer on the coffee table and stood. “I'll come get my stuff by the end of the week.”

Jane stood there, mouth agape like a fish as she was obviously trying to come up with some excuses, but he didn’t give her a chance. He grabbed the small overnight bag he always kept in the hall cupboard for work gigs and shrugged his jacket on. When he reached the door, Greg twisted the simple gold band off his finger and tossed it on the stand in the entryway. Without a look back, he walked out into the night and away from what he had thought was the perfect life. The world seemed just a bit more grey to him now.


	2. Expanded Spectrum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft Holmes’ life was a brilliant spectrum of colours from the moment he opened his eyes. Though it dulls with age, the only part of his life that seems to be continually painted grey is his love life, or lack there of. But now he has to meet the enigmatic Inspector that has started to tame his little brother. No good can come from Anthea’s meddling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! The joy you have all brought me from enjoying this fic have caused a writing storm so there will be a double upload today! I love these two idiots far too much! Much love to Bakerstbois for the betas and i love you all!

Mycroft Holmes had lived a life full of every vibrant colour one could imagine and several he thought were solely made up just for him. He had a vivid imagination as a child and would often spend his time in the fields surrounding their family home, cataloging the varying hues of the flora and fauna of nature. He was forced to drag his younger brother Sherlock along, letting the boy do his ‘speriments’ while he reveled in the beauty of the world.

As he grew, his imagination became a tool for observation and allowed him to piece together things in a way that none but Sherlock could rival. He was able to see the fruition of plans well before they were even put into motion, and though the world was still bright to him, he opted to spend his days now in drab offices with boring people in dull clothes. Mycroft's skin even lost its vibrancy as he grew older, becoming pale and freckled at the lack of golden sunlight. His auburn hair that used to look as though the flames of a fire lit it from within now sat dull, even in its perfectly coiffed state. His silvery grey eyes used to glint in the sun but now seemed to hold a faraway, introspective look that put many people off.

In school, Mycroft had been an ostracized outcast. So had Sherlock. They were looked at as freaks for their intelligence, and the bullying they endured sent them in opposite directions. Mycroft worked harder to fit in, even though he stayed aloof, but his brother had chosen to remain acerbic and alienate himself further. Mycroft had always needed to protect Sherlock; pulling him from fights, keeping him from being expelled for blowing up the science lab, and even paying off a few small drug debts and sending him to detox. It ate at him how his brother seemed to be wasting his large brain on such destructive hobbies, and it sometimes drove him to distraction.

School days passed with commendations and awards for his brilliance, and he was accepted to Cambridge where he chose to study Political Sciences. Mycroft was a certifiable genius and that made his parents proud. He graduated Magna Summa Cum Laude from university and was offered the position of a political foreign attache at the age of 20. 

Now that Mycroft held a rather high, minor position in the British Government, or so he told himself, he was able to keep a close eye on Sherlock even when he couldn’t physically be there. Some, Sherlock included, thought his overprotectiveness was only to protect his own reputation but in truth, Mycroft worried about Sherlock, constantly. 

Mycroft adjusted to the long lonely days in his position. As he rose in the government, he quickly realized that he was never going to be able to have a meaningful, romantic relationship with anyone that could not be vetted and cleared by security to the highest level. Not that he was concerned with a partner at this stage. He was still young and had his whole life for a romantic entanglement. He would much rather spend his time bringing down the totalitarian governments of miniscule countries that threatened the security of the colonies. He had no real friends, at least by conventional standards, but that had suited him well all these years.

What Mycroft did have as Anthea, or whatever she called herself these days. She was irreplaceable to him. They had no romantic interest in each other even though many thought they must. That suited them both well as they had sexual tastes that, even in the late twentieth and early twenty-first century, could potentially cause issues in their chosen careers. Anthea was brilliant in her own right, and spectacular at her job. She could fill even the most exacting request in short order and he trusted her with his life. He knew she deserved more than the position she held and was slowly grooming her to take over for him. 

As his thirtieth birthday approached, Mycroft suddenly realized how alone he had become. He had come home to an empty house, eaten take away yet again, and sat in his darkened theater room and watched Casablanca for the hundredth time when it hit him. He knew he could text Anthea and a fully vetted lover would be on his doorstep in an hour's time. That had been enough for him this long, but now, now it seemed he longed for something more. Someone to wake up next to in the morning. Someone to cook with and take to events and travel with that he could talk to about almost anything. He was lonely. He let out a heavy sigh from behind his rich mahogany desk in the office he occupied on occasion at the Diogenes Club and Anthea looked up from her phone.

“Something the matter, sir?” Her nearly black eyes bore into him as she tried to ascertain his needs.

“Just reminiscing about things I never had. Nothing to concern yourself worth.” He gave her a defeated smile.

“If you say so, sir. I can help if you would like me to, you only need to say the word.” And she would, too. He knew she would consult the best matchmakers and make the fitting introductions after researching and digging into each potential partner's history. 

“Thank you. I may take you up on that one day.” Mycroft sighed again and sat back. He needed to get his head back to the matters at hand. “Tell me how my menacing little brother is doing.”

“Well,” Anthea pulled out a tablet and began to pull up the information she had. “He got in a spot of trouble six months ago, as you know. Was picked up while high trying to explain to a drug dealer how he could maximize his profits if his brother wasn’t stealing the good stuff and cutting his drugs with baking powder.”

Mycroft sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as he waved her on.

“Well it seems he has made a rather friendly contact in the Yard. An inspector Lestrade. He was impressed by Sherlock's deductions and has had him back to pick his brain about minor cases. My sources say that he struck a deal with your brother; get clean and stay that way and he will get him a sort of consulting position with his department.” Anthea lowered the tablet after finishing. She could see the surprise in his eyes and knew this was a good thing.

“Has he now. And what do we know about this officer?”

“Inspector and he is 34, recently finished going through a divorce. He had commendations across the board and is relatively smart in his own way.” She smirked. “Bit of a looker, too.”

“Oh stop that.” Mycroft reprimanded and looked over the notes she had sent through to his phone. “Set up a meeting with him. I need to make sure of his intentions.”

“Of course sir. Official meeting or a pick up?”

“Pick up. Don’t want to do this in the Met.”

“Of course. I'll have a car ready for you and message you when I have him.” She was already typing away on her phone.

“I have no doubts. That will be all.” He dismissed her and went back to his paperwork, the question as to why Anthea hadn’t included a photograph of the man in his dossier tickling the back of his mind.


	3. When Rainy Days and Rainbows Collide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg thinks he might be able to get a leg up with a beautiful woman he literally runs into in the street. What he didn’t anticipate was being virtually kidnapped And driven to an empty warehouse. Inside, he meets a man who shatters his world to tiny pieces. 
> 
> Mycroft needs to vet the Inspector that has become so close to Sherlock. He waits patiently inside his overly dramatic building and when the man walks in, he feels surprise he never thought possible. How could this be?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Double upload day! So now they have met. Dramatic AF.

The following Tuesday dawned warm and bright as Greg drove to work. He stopped at Nero’s for a coffee, noticing a dark sedan with heavily tinted windows outside as he waited for his order. The barista handed him his black coffee, two sugars and a cannoli on the house. Greg thanked him with a smile,nodded, and headed out the door. Had he looked up, he would have noticed a few of the CCTV cameras tilting in his direction, but instead he was focussed on the phone in his hand and reading a text from his Seargent regarding a murder they had just been informed of. 

Greg was so fixated on his phone that he didn’t see the tall, smartly dressed woman step out of the sedan directly into his path. He didn’t notice until he had very nearly bowled her over, spilling his piping hot coffee all over himself and dropping the poor pastry onto the filthy sidewalk and watching it shatter.

“Oof. I am so sorry, Miss.”. He stuttered out as he fumbled with his phone and now empty coffee cup. “I wasn’t paying attention. Did I spill on you? You ok?”

“I am quite alright, though I was just as distracted it seems. I’ve ruined your shirt.” Anthea put on the mask of an upset woman quite well and reached out to pat at the deliberate stain with a tissue. She had timed her exit perfectly and all had gone to plan. “I feel a right fool. Let me take you to get a replacement on my dime. I insist.”

“Well,” Greg really just wanted to go to the office. He had extra clothes there now because he spent far too many nights on the sofa in his office. His new flat was so empty and lonely. But here was a fairly attractive woman offering to get him a clean shirt. Why not? “Alright. I can’t be long though, I need to get to work. Name’s Greg.”

Anthea nodded and would have let him climb into the car first but Greg insisted on holding the door for her. She smiled and slid in, already scheming in her head. 

“Thank you.” She pulled her phone out and sent a text to Mycroft as the car pulled from the curb. It was a fairly silent ride, Greg not knowing what to say to the strange woman for fear he may start to babble from nerves and Anthea studying him from the corner of her eye. Greg simply sat there, taking in the surroundings and noting the directions they turned, knee bouncing nervously. He wasn’t usually this impulsive. They rode on for nearly half an hour and Greg was about to say something, suddenly nervous about being in the car with a stranger, when they pulled up to a building that looked more like a warehouse than a shop.

“So, where are we? Because I have to warn you, I’m a police officer,” Greg informed her as they climbed out and she led him to a door. This was crazy.

“Don't worry, Greg. There is someone inside that will help you out of your shirt….I mean with your shirt.” Anthea gave a fake nervous giggle at the blatantly faux slip of tongue. Greg frowned but he had his gun on his hip under his jacket. His hand twitched towards it, which didn’t go unnoticed by Anthea, before he headed into the building. She grabbed her phone and placed a short call—“Silver fox has landed.”—before climbing back into the car to wait.

He walked through a few hallways until one opened up into a large storage type room. There were a few pillars and shelving units positioned around and Greg went into cop mode, moving slowly and scanning his surroundings. He heard a soft scuffing of feet and then the clearing of a throat and wheeled around to face the pillar in the very center of the room. Movement caught his eye as a figure stepped out from behind it and everything changed. 

Greg stood there like a fish out of water, floundering, mouth opening and shutting as he tried to form words to say about what he was witnessing. His heart beat out a staccato in his chest, breath catching in his throat. The figure stepped towards him and a silky voice addressed him by name but he could neither hear nor understand the words as he dropped to his knees, eyes welling with tears. 

“Am I dead?” He whispered to the figure before him, blinking at what felt like the sun in his eyes. His brain could not process what he saw before him. Even though he had never seen it before, Greg could tell right then that this was what all the fuss was about. This was colour. He didn’t know what to call each one individually but he knew that there were hundreds of different ones, all dancing in front of his eyes and wrapping the figure there in the rainbow he had heard so many talk about.

“No, Inspector Lestrade. You are very much alive.” The warm voice spoke from where it stood and Greg could take no more. Had he been more aware of what was going on Greg would have noticed the confusion and possible fear in the other one’s voice. For the first time in his life, at least that wasn’t the result of a football injury, he passed out and knew only darkness again.

——————————-

Mycroft Holmes had nervously waited for the officer to arrive after receiving the text from Anthea that he was on the way. He dressed carefully in his favourite suit; dark maroon with a crisp white shirt and black tie. It was one he reserved for special gatherings and dinners when he wanted to impress dignitaries, particularly younger ones. He couldn’t tell you why he wanted to wear it to meet someone just to make sure of his intentions with Sherlock, no doubtedly to be imposing, he supposed.

He got in place as Anthea pulled up with the man in the car and called him, picking away invisible lint from the sleeves of the expensive jacket and trying to control his fluttering belly. Mycroft heard the man moving deliberately through the building and into the room he now occupied. After he cleared his throat, he stepped out from behind the pillar that hid him and felt like a battering ram had slammed into his chest.

The man in front of him was stunning in many ways, many that could be counted as typical, but what floored Mycroft the most was that the man, or at least what he saw of him, lacked any colour at all. Not to be confused with someone who dressed in drab colours. No, this man was shades of black, white, and grey from the tips of his hair to the scuffed toes of his worn shoes. Mycroft was enthralled.

That's when he noticed that Greg was having some sort of fit. In a pique of worry, Mycroft moved towards him, saying his name, forgetting his own revelations at that moment. He halted when Greg dropped to his knees in tears, asking if he died. What a ridiculous thing to ask. Mycroft has surprised a great many people, both men and women, and never had he had this reaction.

“No, Inspector Lestrade. You are very much alive.” Mycroft replied, worry edging his voice. He couldn’t get a read on him, something that Mycroft had never had a problem with before. Suddenly, Greg was on the floor, out cold. “Shit!”

Mycroft pulled out his phone and barked orders at Anthea to call a medical team. As he waited, he knelt beside the man and checked his vitals. All was normal except for the brilliance of his pale skin against the stark grey of Greg’s neck. He moved away as his private paramedics came in and took care of Greg. They asked what had happened and he explained everything, watching them bundle the man on to a gurney and heading out. Mycroft took a deep breath. What the hell had just happened? He heard the click of Anthea’s heels on the concrete floor and turned.

“I didn’t expect you to send him to the hospital. What the hell happened? Did he attack you?” Anthea asked in confusion.

“No. No he didn’t. He passed out after looking at me.”

“He what?” Anthea held back a chuckle and smirk. “I never thought you were that bad on the eyes.”

“Oh shut it.” He huffed. She was the only one who could have gotten away with saying that to him. “I need to ask you a question. I need an honest answer and you cannot repeat this to anyone.”

“Of course.” This sounded much more serious than a simple inquire about his appearance or even about anything else.

“When you looked at the inspector, did you notice anything off about him?” The seriousness in Mycroft's voice pushed the idea of this being a joke further from Anthea’s mind.

“Like what? Other than his abysmal taste in clothing or nervous habit of humming to himself, though I doubt even he notices that.”

“No. More like,” Mycroft paused. This was going to sound insane, but she was the only one he could trust. “More like, a complete lack of any kind of colour to him. Skin, clothes, hair, anything.”

“I mean, his hair is greying, but I thought it made him more distinguished. Why?”

“When I saw him, I was nothing. No hues of cream or peach to his skin, not even a tan. He was all in shades of grey, white, and black.” Mycroft was even more confused now. 

“Perhaps you should go to the hospital too. Get checked out and pop in and see him to check if it was just a fluke of the light.” Anthea suggested. “Maybe you were just worked up or stressed. You have had a lot on your plate right lately.”

“Yes. Very good plan. Let’s go.” Mycroft followed her to the car, seeing the ambulance driving away as he slid inside. He was not used to feeling this uncertain of anything and this was not how he had seen this day going. He didn’t catch Anthea glancing his way often and researching brain tumours on her phone as they sped through the busy London streets towards St. Bart’s.


End file.
